The Delta Quadrant Is the New Black
by Carrie L
Summary: Soon after Voyager establishes reliable contact with Starfleet, Janeway begins to have traumatic, debilitating dreams of her older self imprisoned in a civilian facility. Is it Q or some other alien meddling with her mind, or another force altogether? Can Chakotay, in his capacity as Ship's Dream Whisperer, do anything to help? A little J/C. AU.
1. Chapter 1

**The Delta Quadrant Is the New Black**

After we'd exchanged greetings and the shift change had settled, I leaned over where only she could hear me. "If you'll forgive me for saying so, Captain," I whispered, "you've looked better. Rough night?"

As I took the full force of Captain Janeway's bag-eyed glare, my gut settled uncomfortably around Neelix's latest egg substitute. I'd been hoping for a change. Ever since we'd renewed reliable contact with Starfleet, she'd arrived on the bridge each morning looking more flayed than the last. She clearly wasn't sleeping well. I didn't know if it was the bad news from home that was doing it or something more duty-related, but I wasn't sure how much longer she could endure.

Kathryn – I still call her that, to myself, in my mind, inadvisably, irrevocably – shut her eyes and rested her temple on the worn upholstery of her chair. The moment of repose lasted longer than it should have, as if she were ready to fall asleep sitting up and only an act of will and the knowledge that I was watching brought her back to consciousness. When her eyes opened, they had a sleepy look as if she were lying on her pillow, next to me in – I shut down that train of thought as quickly as I could.

"The same dream I told you about a few days ago," she said, low enough that the rest of the bridge crew couldn't hear. "Even more vivid. I feel as if I'm being held captive at a command performance of my own life."

"You're still an observer? The perspective hasn't changed?" I asked. That had been my first suggestion, that when she became aware of being in a dream, she try to take control, push the dreamscape toward a conclusion that would allow her some peace.

She shook her head and made a tired little grimace of her mouth. "Join me for a coffee?" she offered.

I nodded. She handed over the bridge to Tuvok without even looking at him and we moved to her ready room. I watched her trudge across the bridge like a sleepwalker. If the door hadn't opened automatically, I felt sure she would have walked straight into it. She went to the replicator the same way she always did, treading the path she'd worn in the carpet. All these years spending every day together and I still couldn't take my eyes off her doing the simplest things, and she did them with stunning efficiency, even half-comatose as she now was. My cup of tea was in my hands before I reached the sofa. Carefully balancing the hot vessel, I sat square in the middle where she'd be forced to sit beside me.

As Kathryn dropped onto the sofa beside me and kicked her feet onto the table, she sighed and let her head fall back. "I'm going to lose my mind if this keeps up. Every night, more intense. I wake up and feel as if I've just worked graveyard shift."

It was worrying me too. Nobody else was reporting similar problems. I wondered if this could be another alien experiment, something unknown and perhaps unknowable delving beyond the seemingly fragile shell of her high, pale forehead. I roused myself from admiring the fall of her hair to ask, "Are any of the rest of us there?"

She turned her head on the cushion without lifting it and looked at me as she reflected. "No. None of you. Sometimes I think I see something in one of the other prisoners that reminds me of one of you, but that's all it is, just a reminder. It's not you. And it's a women's prison, so of course the only men are the guards. It's really – well, if it were real, it would be terribly lonely, even with all those people around."

I nodded. "Of course."

What she said made sense. Whenever she and I were separated for any length of time, I felt not just concern for her but a gnawing loneliness, the lack of my closest friend. It was reassuring to hear that she felt the same, in some way at least. I considered for a moment. "That might be good news. If it were a premonition of some kind of punishment when we reach the Alpha quadrant, it seems likely that at least a few of the crew would be there with you."

Kathryn shook her head. "I thought about that, but it isn't a Starfleet facility. And all the prisoners are human. At first I went around peeking at people's ears and thinking intense thoughts, trying to identify a Vulcan or a Betazoid, some species that might pass for human. Nothing. Of course, the people in the dream don't interact with me, so it's hard to be sure, but I believe they really are all human. It's bizarre. I can't recall the last public place where I was surrounded by only other humans, even on Earth. Why would they segregate us that way?"

I sipped my tea as I thought this over. "I've been thinking that it could be Q, or some other alien. It wouldn't be the first time someone's tried to get inside your head."

She rested her cup on her leg and sighed. "It's not narcissistic enough for Q. He needs us to know when he's involved. Also, there's too much dirt and ugliness. The women are – " she paused and looked down as an expression I didn't like at all passed across her exhausted face. "They're so cruel to each other, Chakotay. Q likes storybook places, or just emptiness. These dreams aren't his style."

My eyebrows were doing something I couldn't control, probably showing her how worried I really was when I had intended to keep that to myself. "Dirt and ugliness, you say?" I didn't like to think of her spending her dreamtime in a place even more depressing than the Delta quadrant could be on an average day. She didn't need that.

Kathry opened her eyes a little wider to look at me. I smiled in spite of myself and leaned slightly toward her. "I like to think I'm tough," she said in a confiding tone. "I passed Starfleet survival training with flying colors. But this – there's no privacy, only the most basic needs are covered, and the other inmates…." She lowered her eyes. "Well, they can get violent."

I shifted to keep my eyes on her face as she turned it away from me, as if embarrassed by the inhabitants of her own dream life. This was a disturbing revelation, especially in light of my speculation about alien mind interference. "Violent how?"

She lifted her eyes again. Now that I'd leaned in – and I had no intention of leaning out unless she pushed me away – I could see that the dark circles were more pronounced than yesterday. "There's another inmate, a big woman. Dark. I had the sense that I was afraid of her from the moment she appeared in the dream. We had some sort of history that I couldn't recall, and then there was a sort of flashback of her gang attacking me."

I recoiled slightly without meaning to. "How could they attack you if they don't interact with you?"

Janeway rested her empty cup beside her feet on the low table. "That's what I haven't told you about. I don't understand it myself. I'm there and I'm not there. It's as if I'm physically present, but I'm watching an older version of myself who speaks differently."

"She speaks differently? How can you be sure it's you?"

Janeway waved her hand in dismissal of the idea. "Oh, it's me. She's aged, but she has the same gestures, the same expressions, the same voice. I recognize myself every second. I've wondered a few times if it's some sort of espionage assignment, but I can't fathom what the mission would be. These aren't military prisoners or even people who seem particularly intelligent. They appear to be common criminals. _I_ am a common criminal."

Her forehead clenched and I shifted again to put a comforting hand on her shoulder. "Kathryn, this doesn't sound like a dream. At least not any dream I've ever had. Dreams are impressionistic, inconsistent. This is … it's as if you're entering a different reality."

"Whatever it is, I wish I could make it stop."

I saw the effort in her face as she hauled herself to her feet, accepting the lift from my hand when normally she would have waved me off with one of those trademark eye rolls. "Back to the bridge," she said. "If I stay in here I really will fall asleep."

 _To be continued …._

 _Author's Note: I know, it's shameless. But it was fun. Feedback very welcome._


	2. Chapter 2

_I haven't had much time to work on this lately (other writing obligations!) but here's a little update so you know I haven't forgotten about it._

 **Lieutenant Commander Tuvok, personal log**

I confess that I broke the mind meld first. The images were penetrating my consciousness with such immediacy that I had difficulty maintaining emotional distance. The captain is a dear friend. I was not prepared to see her, or an older version of her, attempt to kill a rival. Such behavior is so uncharacteristic of the woman I know that I questioned whether it could possibly be her. After much longer consideration and meditation, I conclude that it is possible, however unlikely.

My evening meditation was nearly over when I heard the chime. It had to be the captain. At mealtime I had invited her to join my session as a way to improve her sleep, but I had not expected her to come. As long as I have known Captain Janeway, she has observed inadequate self-care. This situation is no exception. I have been watching her for signs of impaired performance, but thus far she has battled sleep deprivation with her usual success.

Physical signs of extreme fatigue, however, were beginning to show on her as she crossed the threshold and came to stand before me where I sat. She gestured at the pillow at her feet and asked permission to join me. I have always appreciated the respectful formality with which she approaches the customs of other cultures.

I suggested the mind meld myself, as a way to understand what she is experiencing and guide her better. She seemed reluctant. I believe she is embarrassed about what she has been seeing and was not eager for me to witness the same images, but she saw the utility of expanding the circle of senior officers who understand the problem fully.

I saw the same setting that the captain has described in our conversations: a primitive prison, shared by female criminals whose activities sometimes dominate the scene. Many of the other prisoners were violent, unsurprising given their harsh conditions and treatment. However, I was not prepared for Prisoner Janeway's own violent acts.

Captain Janeway, perhaps again out of embarrassment, had not completely described Prisoner Janeway's role in the drama. Captain Janeway's tendency to downplay any hardship she is suffering had also misled me into thinking that she was merely having particularly vivid dreams. The reality was therefore far more disturbing than I had expected.

I no longer believe that the word _dream_ is sufficient to characterize the experience she shared with me. _Nightmare_ would be more appropriate, but still within the realm of an activity of the unconscious mind. There was much that was conscious about Captain Janeway's interaction with this other reality. She was there as her present self, the captain of a starship, reserved and analytical, but she was also there as what seems to be an older version of herself.

In that other version, Prisoner Janeway is still a survivor, but pared down to the most basic instincts. She is Captain Janeway stripped of command and much of her dignity and pride. Yet I confess, I saw glimpses of the integrity I admire in Captain Janeway in Prisoner Janeway's attempts to protect and defend her prison 'family'. I cannot dismiss the possibility that they are the same woman, even if they exist in two different realities, which seems likely based on the information I currently have.

There have been many times when I have regretted the lack of a trained ship's counselor aboard Voyager. This is one of those times. My most serious concern is that the captain is in the early stages of some kind of psychotic break, brought on by the extreme and unabated stress of her position.

While the mind meld left many questions, one thing is certain: Captain Janeway cannot endure many more nights of little sleep. I will shift all available resources to investigating the source of the captain's sleep disturbance and finding solutions.


	3. Chapter 3

I rang the captain's chime after my hoverball game, on the way back to my quarters. If she hadn't answered, I would have let her be in the hope that she was getting a little sleep for a change. Instead, the door opened almost the instant my finger left the chime.

"Come," she said from the darkened interior, lit only by the recessed illumination around the viewports. I stepped inside and let my eyes adjust until I could pick out her diminutive shape among the shadows below. I came closer. She was in a peach silk robe, knotted at the waist, with a damp cloth folded over her eyes.

"What is it, Chakotay?" she asked. Her voice was resigned and distant, as she'd sounded often lately. I longed to hear her energetic and teasing again.

"How did you know it's me?"

"Because every other crewmember – Tuvok included – is avoiding the sleep-deprived monster on the warpath."

I chuckled. "You're not a monster. You're just – "

Kathryn pulled the cloth from her eyes to glare. "Watch it."

"You're suffering," I concluded. "I wish I could do something to help."

To my relief, she smiled faintly and set aside the cloth, although she remained immobile on the cushions. "Harry has a theory. I think it's absurd. He thinks it's something to do with my quarters in particular. He wants me to sleep in Sickbay while he conducts experiments on this space."

"Worth a try, don't you think?"

"Chakotay." Kathryn fixed me with the wry gaze I knew well. "The only place I've ever slept worse than I've been sleeping here lately, is in Sickbay. The doctor never sleeps. He paces and fusses and refuses to turn off the lights completely. I'd rather try to sleep in the warp core."

I settled myself on the nearest chair. "You're welcome to my quarters. I could take the couch or find an empty bunk somewhere, whatever you like."

A hopeful expression filled her face for an instant before reason shut it down. "I couldn't ask that of you. Besides, the crew …"

I cut her off mid-martyrdom. "The crew would like their captain back. I don't think they'll be critical about how we achieve that."

Kathryn lifted her head and blinked as if noticing for the first time what she was wearing. She took a deep breath and let it out. "You're right. Let me get a few things together and notify Harry." Five minutes later, she emerged from her bedroom in a modest dress, a small overnight bag in hand, all business.

"I'll take your couch," she announced. "You'll hardly know I'm there."

I accepted this compromise as the victory it was and led the way, already working on an excuse to get her to use the bed. In my quarters, I brought blankets and a pillow out to the couch.

"If you wouldn't mind," I said, "it would be more convenient for me to sleep out here. I've been counseling Ensign Jacobs on some personal issues and he sometimes stops by after his shift to see if I'm still awake."

Kathryn reflected. "Jacobs? The fellow with the eye tic? I hope you can do something for him. He's always made me a little nervous."

"I'm working on it," I assured her. I wouldn't be working on it tonight, of course, because Jacobs had confided that he had an actual date with Crewman Morrissey, but that was nothing the captain need worry about.

Reluctantly, she picked up her bag and moved into the bedroom. "I'll leave the door half open in case you need the bathroom," she said.

I tried not to listen to the rustling noises in the next room while I spread the blankets and made myself as comfortable as possible on the hard, narrow cushions that passed for a couch. Had she brought along the body armor nightwear she'd worn on New Earth, I wondered, or was it that peach silk number I'd seen for the first time earlier in the evening? My instinct not to invade what little privacy she had was suddenly at war with an even more primal one: to get to the bottom of the nightgown question.

I waited for at least half an hour, although it felt far longer, before creeping to the bedroom door with the defensible intention of brushing my teeth in the adjoining bathroom. Low light from the living space fell across the floor, illuminating the bed just enough that I could see Kathryn asleep on her back, one hand on her belly and the other arm thrown up around her head, hair loose, lips slightly parted, and yes, several inches of pale silk taut across her chest where the blanket had slipped down. I was afraid for a moment that I would be unable to move and she would find me there, frozen in the doorway, when she awoke the next morning. Now _that_ would be difficult to explain, not to mention the cramping.

My traitorous legs had other ideas. They moved forward of their own will until I was standing beside the bed, staring down at Kathryn. There must be something I could do to help her, I thought. And then it came to me: maybe a vision quest would allow me to enter her dreamtime and find some way out of the purgatory she was in. I hurried to fetch my medicine bundle.

Next to the bed, I sat, rolled out the animal skin, and spoke the words of invocation. The shift was abrupt, more jolting than usual. The experience was less like the gentle consciousness shift of a vision quest and more like the surreal immersion of the holodeck, except that I was only observing. I saw scenes of hostility, humor, affection, even violence, before someone came into view who was unmistakably Kathryn … and yet not Kathryn.

She was older, heavier, and spoke with a different accent. Her makeup and hairstyle were rougher, harsher. She wore a shapeless beige prison uniform with a pair of reading glasses on a cord around her neck. At first, before she spoke, I could almost believe that she was only someone who resembled Kathryn. Then I heard her voice, and I knew why my captain was so troubled. This was not someone like her. This _was_ her, trapped in a setting I wouldn't have wished on an enemy.

This other Kathryn was talking to a white-haired man dressed as a guard and carrying a weapon. She was friendly, almost flirting with him. I deduced that she wanted something from him and was using the only currency she had. Even in this diminished state, her feminine wiles were powerful. As the scene unfolded, I had time to wonder if I would ever see her aged like this, if I would have the good fortune to be the man wrapped around her grandmotherly finger. But of course, my mind answered itself, I would always be wrapped around her finger. It wasn't something I could undo.

The images disappeared as quickly as they had come and my eyes flew open. The first thing I saw was Kathryn, sitting upright in my bed, gasping. A second later she noticed me and pulled up the sheet to hide the silk nightie I couldn't help but gape at.

"What are you doing in here?" Her breath was still coming quickly from the stress of the dream – or nightmare, I wasn't sure which to call it. I gestured feebly at the open medicine bundle.

"I was with you. I tried a vision quest and I saw what you've been describing."

The words dislodged some of her defenses. She let the sheet drop a little. "You saw the prison? The inmates?"

I nodded. "I saw it all. Just as you said. I even saw you – or the version of you that's there."

"Talking to the guard?" she prompted.

"Yes. Exactly. We must have seen the same thing." I got up and hurried to the replicator to bring her a glass of water. She took it eagerly and gulped down several swallows as I sat gingerly on the end of the bed.

"But I didn't see you. Did you see me there, watching?" she asked.

"No. I was an observer, but I was the only one."

She crawled toward me over the covers, lit up by new inspiration. "This supports the theory that it's some sort of communication, or alternative reality. It's not just in my mind. Isn't that right? If you saw it too?"

I looked away, to focus on her question rather than the mind-erasing sight of Kathryn in her silk nightgown. "I don't know. It's possible that the vision quest allowed me to share whatever you were experiencing. We can't rule out that possibility."

She sat back with a groan. "Oh, this is maddening." An instant later, she raised a finger. "But I'll tell you one thing. This was less intense, and it ended more quickly. Almost as if … as if it were a signal and the reception isn't as good here!" With that, she jumped off the bed and hurried for the chair where she'd left her dress. She flung the garment over her nightgown, pushed her feet into the flat shoes she'd worn from her quarters, and spun back toward me. "Well? Aren't you coming?"

"Coming where?" I asked in total bafflement.

"Engineering! Don't you see? We have to modify Harry's experiment! This changes everything!" And she was out the door, me at her heels.


	4. Chapter 4

I'm not going to pretend that the idea itself wasn't arousing. I mean, an all-women's prison? It's the stuff male fantasies are made of, even for a guy who's been in prison and knows that it's less about bottomless romps than bottomless boredom. From the minute the story came out in a senior staff briefing, all I could think about was set design. Picturing my captain in the middle of it was enough to keep me up all through Delta shift putting together the program that would make it holo-reality. I had a cast of buxom, bisexual beauties all lined up for the crew's interactive enjoyment. It was the most fun I'd had in years, out here in the tedious reaches of the Delta quadrant.

At this point, all I can do is describe it to you. Ears only. If you repeat anything, I'll deny it. Not that it won't hurt not to claim my own genius. I pictured something twenty-first century, a little more modern than most of my holonovels, but not so much that we couldn't still have everyone in silk lingerie under their prison jumpsuits. Of course, the jumpsuits get dirty and have to be cleaned, and back in the dorms everyone has to strip down to skivvies because it's _hot_. No climate control in prison. Back then, it was all very minimalist, you know. They believed in punishment. Sexy punishment.

My plot was brilliant. When you entered the scenario, you had to choose between rival gangs. One was trying to escape, the other was trying to take over the prison. It was a little like Seska's mutiny, but with better outfits. The captain was leading one gang – the escapers – and an inmate named Belladonna was leading the other. She was full-blooded Klingon. You see where I'm going with this. They try to bust each other and steal each other's gear, and in the end it's leading to a giant girl-on-girl food fight in the cafeteria. Pure camp.

How could I have known that Commander Gotcha-kotay would come along and force me to delete the entire thing before I got to share it with a single lonely, grateful ensign willing to pay in rations? You didn't hear it from me, but if there ever was cause for mutiny on board Voyager, this is it. He didn't even watch the whole thing. All it took was the sight of the captain walking in wearing her skintight, prison-issue jumpsuit and he declared it a violation of holoprogramming ethics and shut me down. What a waste.

Granted, I should have gotten the captain's permission, and maybe the jumpsuits were a little low cut. But I ask you, if there's something wrong with that outfit, what's Seven doing strutting around in basically the same thing? At least I gave the prisoners sensible shoes. I thought Chakotay was going to hurt himself trying to lecture me and sneak looks at holographic Janeway at the same time. I wouldn't be surprised if he managed to save a copy somehow. I hope so. I really outdid myself.

Anyway, thanks for listening. Maybe when you wake up from that concussion you can tell me about how _you_ landed in the brig. Looks like one hell of a story.


	5. Chapter 5

When Kathryn charged through the main doors into Engineering a few steps ahead of me, there was Harry Kim, diligent as ever, tinkering with the sensors.

"Captain!" he exclaimed. "Is everything okay?"

It wasn't every day Kathryn made late night visits to Engineering in civilian clothes and flat shoes with her hair down. The skeleton crew on duty had all lost interest in their tasks and stood staring. Kathryn leveled a captain's glare.

"As you were," she said. Heads turned away in unison. She stepped up to Harry's monitor. "I have new information for you that may help to calibrate our search. It seems that the nightmare or communication or whatever it may be is less intense when I'm sleeping in Commander Chakotay's quarters."

"In Commander Chakotay's quarters?" Harry repeated with a bemused glance from Kathryn to me. Kathryn didn't catch it as she focused on the data under Harry's fingers.

"Yes. It's as if the signal is weaker in his bedroom."

Harry gulped and took in our casual dress. "His bedroom?"

At this, Kathryn looked up to see Harry's wide eyes and my dimples beginning to show in spite of my best effort to keep a straight face. She rolled her eyes. "Oh grow up, you two. I was experimenting with the effect of sleeping in a different location."

Harry cleared his throat nervously and turned back to his data. "Yes, ma'am," he answered. "I understand."

Kathryn put a hand on his shoulder. "It's not crunch time, not yet. But I would appreciate it if this experiment did not go beyond the three of us, okay Mr. Kim?"

A nervous grin crossed Harry's face. "Aye aye, Captain."

"Now," she said. "I want to do comparative sensor sweeps for any type of data variation, starting at my quarters and moving outward. Harry, you monitor the data stream here. I'm going back to my quarters to try to identify the point of greatest intensity."

"Are you sure that's wise?" I asked, but Kathryn was already several steps ahead of me, moving toward the turbolift. When I caught her, I said, "At least let's call the doctor to join us with a cortical monitor. I'm concerned about the effect on you if the 'communication' gets any stronger."

Kathryn stopped with an angry flourish in the middle of the corridor and put a hand to her head to consider. At last she answered, "Okay. You're right." She summoned the doctor to meet us in her quarters.

"Even if we don't learn anything more tonight," I said as the turbolift hummed around us, "we know that you can move around and have some hope of a better night's sleep. That's hopeful news. I just don't understand why you're the only one having this experience."

"That's what made up my mind to call the doctor." She turned to me with an expression I might have identified as regret in a person with more of a tendency toward that emotion. Kathryn made a virtue of not looking over her shoulder. It was the only way to live, out here. "There's something wrong with me, Chakotay. I have to find out what it is."

Then I recognized the look on her face. It was not regret, but genuine fear. Something was happening to her that she could neither understand nor control. Kathryn's fingers stretched out toward mine and in the instant before the turbolift doors slid open on the empty corridor, I curled mine around hers. Hand in hand, I led her to the door of her quarters where the doctor stood waiting.

Without preliminaries, the doctor reached out his hand and clicked the cortical monitor into place against Kathryn's skin. "I'm glad you've finally decided to let me do the comprehensive sleep study I suggested last week, Captain," he said. "It's just fortunate that I don't mind at all being called here in the middle of the night."

"Yes, thank you Doctor," Kathryn said wryly. "But all I asked you for was the monitoring."

He harrumphed. "It's a start."

Kathryn keyed in her code and led us into her quarters. She studied the layout. "Chakotay, your quarters are aft of mine, and my bedroom is on the aft end of my quarters. Maybe if I tried sleeping at the most forward position – over here, past the desk – I could get the best reception."

The doctor and I exchanged worried glances, but no one was going to convince Kathryn to do anything else. She arranged a few cushions on the floor and I brought a pillow and blanket from the bed.

"You don't have to stay, Chakotay," she said. "I'll be quite all right with the doctor here."

"If you don't mind, I'd rather stay. To observe the experiment," I hastened to add, as her eyebrows went up and down.


	6. Chapter 6

The images came, faster and more immediate than ever before. A drug overdose. A prison wedding. So many images, reeling through my brain one upon the last, faster and faster, like nothing I'd ever experienced, until the overload became physically painful. I clutched my head and cried out, trying to escape from the dream, but it held me in a fierce grip. I couldn't force out the words of fear and protest. I was paralyzed, the tortured prisoner of a stream of consciousness not my own. Bile rose in my throat. Suddenly, everything went dark.

I woke with a searing ache in the side of my head, the site where my Borg implant had been. Dimmed lights in Sickbay shone down. I took in the scene with only my eyes rather than trying to move. My body felt limp and utterly drained. There was no sign of life around me. The doctor was nowhere visible or audible, but someone had hold of my hand – not something the doctor would likely do.

In my peripheral vision I saw a blur of dark hair resting on the biobed near my hip. It could be only one person. A scene from the dream, as fresh as if I'd been there seconds ago, flashed through my mind. Suddenly, a great deal was clear to me.

"Everybody has a soul mate," I said. My voice croaked but made itself heard in the silent Sickbay.

Chakotay blinked hard as he raised his head and slowly rose from his stool enough to look into my face.

"What did you say? Everybody has a soul mate?"

He looked incredulous, as if he thought he must have heard me wrong. He had red marks on the side of his face from sleeping on the ridged edge of the biobed and his hair was flat in some places, sticking straight out in others. He looked like I felt. I began rolling my head toward him but the pain made me stop. He leaned over farther to look down at my eyes.

"She said it," I told him. "Me. Her. In the dream. She said love is a fairy tale we tell ourselves. Then she said everybody has a soul mate, but they're usually on the other side of the bars or the wall or the planet. Or the galaxy, I suppose. That's how the universe works, she said."

Chakotay dropped his eager eyes from my face and stared down at the place where his two strong, warm hands still held my limp one. Exhaustion lined his face. He must have been at my side for hours as I slept off whatever had just happened. I wondered what had happened and if anyone could explain it. I wondered fleetingly who was on the bridge, but the ship was still humming through space. They really could do without us for a few hours now and then. That was good to know.

"Is that what you believe?" he asked finally, in a dull voice. His eyes came back to me. There was anguish down in their depths, but he was trying to hide it. "Love is nothing but a fairy tale?"

I made the effort to turn my head toward him. The pain wasn't as severe as I'd feared. It was abating as the minutes passed.

"No. Not the fairy tale part, anyway. Love is real. I've felt it. That's how I know she wasn't really me.

Chakotay shook his head adamantly. "No, she wasn't you. Her looking like you – it must have been just a bizarre coincidence. Harry and the doctor can explain it better than I can, but – "

"No," I said. "You don't have to explain right now. They'll tell me later, when my head has stopped throbbing. Chakotay?"

"Yes?" he said in an eager voice.

"Do you think you could help me sit up and drink some water? My throat is so dry."

"Of course!" He put a gentle hand under my shoulders and levered me to a sitting position with almost no effort on my part. "Is that better?"

When I nodded – more with my eyelids than with my head itself – he hurried to fetch a glass of water, rushed back, and held it to my lips as I drank. He watched me swallow all of it and sit panting a little as my head slowly cleared.

"Thank you," I said.

"Do you want to lie down again?" he asked. Then with a wry smile, "I should warn you that I'm under doctor's orders to sedate you if you try to go back to the bridge in this condition."

That made me smile too. "I think I'd like to sit here for a minute, if that's allowed."

Chakotay adjusted the biobed to a sitting position that gave me a little support. I leaned back with a grateful sigh.

"What else did she say, the woman in prison?"

I shut my eyes and tried to recall. "She said a lot of things. She was very wise, in some ways. She'd been through a lot and took it all in stride. We were alike in that way."

"And she said everybody has a soul mate?" Chakotay kept his tone light, but there was urgency in his posture as he lounged against the biobed, never taking his eyes off me.

"She said that."

"Do you believe that?" he asked.

I considered for a minute. "I do believe that. I didn't in the past. I loved Justin and Mark, but I thought that we just encounter compatible people in our lives, and there are a great many people any given person could be happy with." I was staring down at my black pantlegs, trying to work this out as I spoke. It seemed very important to state my new understanding accurately. "And I have never gone in much for the mystical."

"We are unlike in that way," Chakotay said lightly, but the tension hadn't left him.

I continued, almost oblivious to Chakotay's presence beside me as I formed thoughts into words. "I was too young then – too young to understand what it means to be completed. I thought everything was happenstance. I had contempt for fate."

There was a long pause before Chakotay asked, "What changed?"

My fingers closed around his as if of their own accord.

"I met my fate," I said.

I felt the upswell in him, the words that rushed to his lips and the desire to embrace me that moved through his arms. I experienced all of it, understood all of it, only through the warm grasp of his hand.

He brought my hand to his lips and kissed it.

"So did I," he said.

I let out a shuddering sigh. "Will I be able to sleep now?"

Chakotay cleared his throat and pulled himself more upright. "The doctor thinks so. And Harry. The problem is resolved. Do you feel well enough to walk back to your quarters?"

It was a slow walk, but I made it. Chakotay made me promise to comm him if I felt worse in the night or had any more dreams. He stood in the doorway longer than usual, looking back at me with an inscrutable expression, before murmuring _good night, Kathryn_ and slipping away.

I wished I could say more to him. I wished I had more to give him. I could only hope he had understood. His words – _so did I_ – suggested that he had. We would have that much, then. More precious words that might mean everything … or nothing.


	7. Chapter 7

**Kim**

I hesitated just inside the ready room doors, feeling more bashful than usual and trying not to show it.

"Out with it, Ensign," Captain Janeway barked. Her voice was rough, but her expression was gentle. After her time in Sickbay, she looked more like herself, bright and lively. She wasn't angry. With one hand, she beckoned with the imperial gesture I had come to expect. Our captain, I had come to realize, would have been equally at home if the Caretaker had hurled us into ancient Egypt and made her Cleopatra. I hurried forward.

"I have some new data that I believe explains what you've been experiencing, Captain," I said. "Tuvok asked me to look into the possibility of some sort of communication from outside the ship. I discovered an old broadcast signal that's been piggybacking on Starfleet's deep space transmissions from the Alpha quadrant. By accident, is my guess."

"Broadcast? What kind of broadcast?" Janeway stood straight behind her desk.

I stood straighter, almost at attention, responding to her new energy. "It appears to be a very old Earth broadcast that somehow mingled with the carrier wave at one of the deep space relay stations. I can only get scraps of it. The signal has degraded heavily over the last few days. What we do know is" I broke off my eye contact with the captain and shifted my weight. There were still a few things I couldn't explain. I wasn't sure how she would take it.

"Yes?" Janeway demanded.

"Captain, because your quarters are closest to the forward sensor array that's been receiving the transmissions, we have a theory that your proximity to the array together with a remnant of your Borg cortical node that the Doctor was unable to remove safely combined to … that is, it created …." my words stuttered to a stop. Janeway came around the desk to face me.

"Let's hear it, Ensign. Created what?"

"Well, basically created digital reception in your head. Have your dreams at all resembled one of Tom's old television programs? Are they black and white, for example?" I spoke tentatively. I was talking about my captain's dream life and mental state. There was no precedent in any of my training for a conversation like this, and I like to be prepared, especially with a captain as jittery as this one had been lately.

Janeway gasped, one hand over her mouth. "That's it. That explains" – she stopped and looked at me again. "But it doesn't explain everything. The dreams are in color, not black and white. And it doesn't explain the most confounding thing. It doesn't explain why _I'm in the program_."

My face went blank. I was aware of this problematic detail and had no prepared answer. "I – well – could it – could it just be a coincidence?"

Janeway threw me a skeptical look. "I don't much believe in coincidences, Harry."

I shifted my feet and looked around the ready room, searching for ideas. "Maybe your mind is trying to make sense of the mental interference by placing you in it somehow."

"And my cortical node? I take it the Doctor made some adjustment, since I was able to sleep."

"I asked him about that. He was unwilling to divulge patient information, but he did say that from an engineering perspective, he believes he's disabled the receptive capacity of whatever is … er, left in your head."

"Well, that's something." Janeway went to the viewport, sat down, and shut her eyes. "I need to talk this over with Chakotay and Tuvok. Thank you for the information, Mr. Kim. Please forward your data to me. It's some kind of progress toward figuring this out and I'm grateful."

"You're welcome, Captain," I answered. "I'll keep trying to untangle more of the signal, to see if we can learn more about the original transmission."

Janeway nodded, but her attention had shifted from me. Her eyes focused somewhere out in space. "Dismissed," she said absently.


	8. Chapter 8

I heard the chime, but as if it had come over a great distance and had no importance for me. My mind was too lost in the darkness beyond the viewport, trying to make some sense out of Harry's final report and the unscrambled transmissions he had forwarded along with it. Of all the mysteries of the Delta quadrant, the deepest one had arrived from home.

A moment later, the unlocked door slid open. I saw the blur of Chakotay moving through my peripheral vision, stepping onto the raised platform of my ready room, sitting beside me, not quite touching, the way he always did. I stayed still, legs tucked under me, chin on my hand as I stared out. My other hand was flat on the cushion and he put his on it – a warm, comforting pressure I only rarely allowed myself. I did not pull away. I needed the anchor of human contact. Slowly, I blinked as if waking up and turned my face toward him with a slight head shake.

"I can't make heads or tails of it, Chakotay."

"You read Harry's final report."

"Yes. Did you watch the transmissions?"

He grimaced. "I watched enough. He found it, all right. It was definitely the same thing I saw in my quarters the other night."

I had managed to forget about that – waking up in his bed with Chakotay and his medicine bundle on the floor beside me, that urgent conversation during which he'd tried to look anywhere but at the uncaptainly spectacle I was putting on in my nightgown. I felt the blush rise on my neck and hoped my uniform would hide it.

"About that," I said, casting my eyes down for a few seconds. "I'm sorry for the way I imposed on you. I was … beside myself."

His hand squeezed mine lightly. "It was no imposition. I was happy to be able to do something for you. Are you feeling better?"

"I am. Well, the sleep deprivation is wearing off. But I can't seem to shake the question of who she was."

Chakotay shrugged. "Just an actor, apparently."

"Yes, I saw the biographical data Harry compiled. It didn't answer the big question of how she and I could be so much alike."

"Long lost ancestor, like Shannon O'Donnell?" Chakotay showed me his dimples.

"Maybe." I took my hand from my head and sighed. "For a while, I was afraid I was losing my mind. If I ever suggest that your experience in chaotic space was anything less than terrifying … remind me of today."

Chakotay looked amused. "I rarely need to remind you to torture yourself. It's over, Kathryn. Whatever it was. You know that I believe in symbols and signs and messages from ancestors, so if you need to take it that way, go ahead. Think of it as something reaching out to connect with you."

"But to what end?" I exclaimed. The images were still far too fresh in my memory, especially after watching Harry's full recovered "episodes". It was both a relief to know the source of my nightmares and deeply disturbing to see another form of myself in such a foreign context. "To remind me that I could have avoided all this hassle with space exploration and taken to the stage?"

"You make one hell of a Queen Arachnia."

I gasped and slapped his shoulder. "How do you know that? You were on the bridge the whole time!"

Chakotay just laughed at me. "Oh, I have well-placed spies. What did you ever do with that costume?"

"Tom has it, I suppose. I hate to think what _he_ does with it."

A different sort of amusement, less jovial, crossed Chakotay's face. "You know, I didn't give you the whole story of why Tom wound up in the brig this week."

This was an intriguing change of topic, or even more intriguing if it was relevant to our conversation. "You said he abused his holographic privileges. I figured that was a euphemism for something I'd rather not know about."

He nodded. "We can leave it at that, if you'd rather."

"Not now that you've brought it up." He was trying to avoid my eyes. I leaned in. "Chakotay, what did he do?"

Chakotay rubbed his hand on his leg but still didn't let mine go. "He … uh … he programmed a women's prison simulation. A sexy women's prison. With you in it."

I couldn't entirely stifle my snort of laughter. "Oh dear." Chakotay was right, it was a terrible breach of regulation and protocol, but at that moment I felt almost giddy with relief at the end of my ordeal and ready to be amused rather than angry.

"Yes. I've disciplined him every way I have in my power, but if you'd like to take a run at him …."

"Oh no. I'm sure you were thorough. And this way we can mock him for thousands of light years to come. But Chakotay?"

His eyes were a little fearful as they rose to mine. "Yes?"

"You watched this holoprogram, I assume?"

"Only the beginning," he started to say, then paused. "That is to say – to be honest, I watched the beginning when I first caught him at it, and deleted it on the spot. But then – I'm sorry, Kathryn – I went back later and retrieved the deleted file. I told myself I wanted to see how serious his offense was, but I shouldn't have done it."

Suddenly his hand felt not just warm but sweaty on mine. His foot twitched nervously on the carpet.

"And how serious was it?"

Chakotay shifted his jaw and looked around the ready room in manifest discomfort. "I wouldn't know where to begin. But I could show you."

"Show me? You mean you saved it?"

He blew out his breath. "There is an archived copy. For purposes of the report," he hastened to add.

I rose and pulled him to his feet. "Let's see it, Commander."


End file.
